Black Bird
by Osethia
Summary: They say it was an omen, that it brought death. From an old world that went up in toxic flames, standing still in time as it crumbled. Now it's coming for all of us. The 170th Hunger Games are about to begin. SYOT
1. Call it Instanity

Prologue I

* * *

**Lars Florian | 32 years  
****Head Gamemaker  
****170th Hunger Games**

* * *

"You can't be serious."

"What makes you think I'm not?"

"Because I'm talking about you, you're never serious. About anything."

"Just because I don't take you seriously doesn't mean I don't take _anything _seriously. I know you love to think of yourself as everything that was ever important in the world, just accept that it's not true." Lars threw the last of the melon in his mouth and smirked. "I am."

The look of disgust on his companion's face could have won an award. She rolled her eyes and sighed. "You won't be for much longer. You'll be in about twenty-fifth place in _four days_." Vinicia continued to stare at the brightly coloured fruit laid out on the silver platter in front of them. Food was everywhere, at every hour of the day. For a grown ass man he ate like a pregnant woman with triplets. And just as much as he loved his food he loved the attention he garnered through becoming the Head Gamemaker.

"You doubt me. I'm _almost _offended," Lars murmured around the fruit at his lips. He did his best to keep a snicker from his face but failed miserably when his shoulders rolled forward with the small snort.

"This is what I mean! You _know _the arena is a good month away from being completed and you still laugh. That's insane even for you!" She exclaimed much louder than necessary, her smile barely concealed.

"At least I don't yell secrets so District 12 can hear them too!" He hissed, shooting his hands out and pushed the air down like it would muffle their voices. It wasn't really a secret. The control room was sealed tight from everything, built like a bomb bunker it seemed at times. There were cameras everywhere, in every nook and cranny of the ceiling and Lars could point out every single one of them. He'd have to get Stasia to edit this little conversation out somehow if that was remotely possible. She was the tech guru for a reason, not him.

Vin gave him a rather ugly snort, brushing away his concerns. "How could Roda put you in charge?"

"I've got pretty eyes."

If that's what the President cared about they'd be up to their noses in empty-headed dreamers with the right connected genetics to match what people liked to call pretty. They were all still dreamers. Everyone that stepped through those glass doors entered a dream world. Funny thing was, it was all something different for each of them. You needed a certain kind of insanity to take these positions. To take the ups and downs that weren't written in the fine print. They all took that mostly obliviously and rode the waves through the storms until they drowned in them. Those dreamers are the only ones capable of finding the eye to it all and thriving.

Vinicia shakes her head, crossing her legs and tapping the toe of her heel against the table leg. She watches him silently for a few seconds with her fist at her chin.

He didn't like how she watched him like that. Like he could feel her judgment melting into his skin. "I'm not even the only one to blame. Loxas has said he's got everything under control-"

If the sliding glass doors could crash against the wall beside them like every good ol' metal door, that's the sound that would have echoed through the otherwise empty room. That on its own was a rare sight. People liked to crowd around the control panels and desks lined with screens to make it look like they knew what they were doing, which only prevented that exact work from getting done.

Speak of the devil.

Loxas's hand shoots up to his forehead and from where the pair are sitting the wince is clear. So is the puff of pink that spreads across his cheeks. He brushes his hand over his face trying to wipe off the look of utter shock, the doors slide open properly this time and he stalks in. He looks like he's on a mission. He untucks the tablet and slaps it into Lars's hands, smiling. There's something unsettling about it though, just the way it doesn't match the urgency in his steps that literally caused a collision with the doors he knows are there. Same as every other day.

Lars sits back. The tablet is already on, brightness as high as it could be apparently, causing him to squint at first. Vin's seat squeaks a bit as she leans forward to poke her nose over the edge. A rough few sketches sit in front of him, the lines all scraggly and sprawling, but the image and idea are there.

"Absolutely not," she blurts at first sight of the thing. Lars quirks a brow at her as if he were asking why she cared. She never did otherwise, but pique of curiosity at the moment he guessed.

"Are you high?" He asks with a shift of his eyes to the blue haired man. Nearly bending over backward in his seat to shoot prying eyes over him. He was almost hoping to see something poking out of the other's pockets but there was nothing there. It would have been taken off his person by security anyway. Security was also supposed to stop interruptions for the next half hour and that had gone _perfectly_.

"You ask me to give you everything me and my team think of, not my fault you might not like some of the things that come out," Loxas murmurs.

"I didn't ask for bigfoot."

"You asked for mutts." Loxas was unfazed by their Gamemakers denial. He straightens again, tucking the tablet under his arm. He watched Loxas walk around with that thing like it was an extension of his brain, everything stored onto it and away from the chaos that was the rest of the man. The rest of their jobs in truth. Loxas taps his fingers against the screen, glancing to Vin then back to him. "Fine, I see how it is." And promptly walks out of the room without any more of a fight.

Lars smiles, rubbing at his chin while the mop of cyan hair receded. He wouldn't put it past him to of rushed in there so hastily and left just as quick to get the answer he already knew he'd get. Pushed on it by his team members to at least ask what Lars thought.

The doors slide shut at Loxas's back, leaving them alone again. He brings his finger up and points it directly between Vin's eyes, slamming his elbow against the table in the process to make the effect more dramatic. "And Roda already knows," he states.

Her head falls back and mouth gapes open in mock exasperation. Clearly, she thought he'd let that subject die with their interruption, but that was her mistake. He wasn't about to let it slip by when he knew he could prove her wrong of something.

"It's not like he really cares either way. I think he only cares if the trail leads back up to him, which it won't, and he gets even more cameras in his face." He continues, wagging his finger in circles in the air. Being the president meant that everything was Roda's fault in some way to the press. Something that's been left in Lars's hands leading back up to him was an automatic death sentence. In a way he hoped was never literal.

Their president never showed much affection for anyone. Lars was quite positive the most he'd seen from Roda was a gentle pat on someone's shoulder, and that had been his husband's. Roda had a heart in there somewhere. Lars didn't have the desire to go searching for it if he didn't have to, and so far he hadn't. The tragedy in Four two years ago was close, but the noose fell to someone else.

"Alright if it makes you feel better," he huffs. He slides closer to her, locking his hand around the arm of her chair and dragging her along for the ride over to a screen. He's already halfway through the process of accessing the files when Vinicia's chair settles into place. For the past few weeks he's been going through them, so he wasn't slacking entirely. "Naida's crews have been monitoring the Centers in One, Two, Four and the half center in Seven. Footage will be easy to get from there, six out of twenty-four already handled. Adirain might get something while he's there too." he says as if he's listing off bullet points. "The rest will be gathered at the goodbyes. Any kind of reaction is what we need from them; good, bad, catastrophic, whatever."

Vin watches him flip through what they already had gathered and the few pieces of experimentation that Loxas took the initiative to record. "Do these count?" She cocks her head, looking at him with a subtle snicker. "Is this legal." Now if that wasn't _the_ joke of one hundred seventy years.

"That's why we have the bird." Lars shrugs his shoulders.

He couldn't care less whether they counted or not. Late night hours are bound to be logged by his entire team all the way up to the launch to make final touches. It could be seen as a stretch but all they needed was one solid reaction to make it a success. There were countless moving parts in the scheme of things, but there always were. This game was no different than any other he'd played in his earlier years. He'd taken the safe steps of their proverbial handbook, but that didn't bring him anywhere new.

Risks were guessing games of which one would eventually kill him.

* * *

Welcome dear readers!

Do I know what I'm doing? No of course not, but twist seems to have enough faith.

This is my first go at one of these myself, just been a casual spectator for the past while but let's just take the dive shall we? The form is on my profile and hard to miss. PM me your completed submissions please and thank, review submissions will just be ignored, no matter how interesting it might be.

I have a makeshift blog for the capitol crew up on my profile so you guys can get a look at who the cast is. You can probably already tell that I like to have things out in the open to look at for my own sanity and organization. Mentors are there too and I love them too much already. I have three prologues planned for now to give ample time for submissions, and updates I plan on being for Sundays from now on. Hopefully.

This will be a pleasant and painful experience for all of us. My heart already aches.


	2. Little Bees

Prologue II

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**Narcisse Roda | 39 years  
****President of Panem  
****170th Hunger Games**

* * *

He's never liked the control room in silence. It's not empty whatsoever, but everyone inside has adopted an air of silence since he's stepped inside.

Probably because silence in this room of all of Panem means that productivity is at an all-time low. Even thinking that makes him cringe at himself, and reminds him of every pen pushing politician he works with, or rather who works for him. Those same politicians would say it's a necessity though, looking at the room now.

There are a fair number of gamemakers and their assistants milling around, carrying a tablet or two in their arms, and appearing busy enough. Some of them look like they're trying a little too hard to look hard at work, one man sitting on the level just below him currently has flipped between the same two screens more times than he could track in the last five minutes, no data added. He has to look efficient in his job when the president is sitting just above him, even if Narcisse didn't look at him once. As if it really matters to him what small cog the man was in this scheme.

What did matter, was that he had been sitting in this same seat for nearly an hour and most of the gamemakers in the room were getting tense.

Not one of them knew that he would be paying them a visit. One could argue that it was a bit of a sick joke to play on them all so close to the eve of the reapings. Like it was supposed to be a shot of adrenaline to get everything finished. Again, it didn't matter to him what it took to get it done, just that it did.

His head of security strides up the short level of stairs to the platform overlooking the rows of screens and busy bees running below them with Kassius just behind her, and pulls the empty seat next to him towards her. Her arms crossed over the back of the seat, leaning onto it as she casts a last glance over the room before settling on him. Kassius settles into the chair with a sigh, content by the sounds of it.

"Someone been stood up?" Kassius smiles and leans back as best as he could with Zaina standing there. No sympathy whatsoever.

He runs his fingers across the screen on the desk, Lars's control center by the looks of it, and brings up a camera's view of inside the arena. The two people he came to speak with clear in the feed, hundreds of miles from here. Loxas raises his tablet to Lars and points to something off-screen before Narcisse glances back up.

"By both of them. I shouldn't be surprised, they weren't expecting me, but I'll keep it in mind," he agrees, sending him a brief quirk of his brow. That had been the point though, to catch them off guard. The rumours that were leaking up to them weren't reassuring to hear with a handful of days left before to prepare. Lars has never known what a comfortable grace period is, has he?

"Have you heard any recent details? The last I heard was the mutts still had no solid form yet, that they'd seen. You need a higher level informant for meatier leaks than the last one." His voice low, just above a whisper, only for Kassius to hear. He could laugh, how many pockets Kassius had a hand in to root out the truth of matters. Being told one thing to reassure him that everything is going smoothly while it's an utter lie isn't the way he lets things run. Anyone with a sliver of a brain should know he doesn't take kindly to that.

Kassius's smile twists into a smirk. "Not yet. The arena's complete, the systems are up and running for sponsors, and Capitol celebrations have been designated to certain sectors with plenty of advanced notice. The last is the mutts, thanks to Mr. Cyre and this 'unconventional' lead." Despite the smirk, Kassius doesn't look impressed. "It'd be a shame to see Mr. Cyre go so soon. He has a bright head on his shoulders."

"That's more melodramatic than it needs to be," He murmurs under his breath. Zaina snickers above them, still scanning the rest of the room. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't.

There are plenty of things that could go wrong and an equal amount that could go right and he wasn't about to let it snowball from upset viewers at a disappointing lot of mutts. Every detail mattered to them, and that in turn, gave him a headache. That the games could destabilize his administration.

History had evidence that volunteers from outer districts could cause a considerable amount of damage. Everyone knows how that little story played out, and just how quickly it was snuffed by one brutal swipe of Enobaria's sword. But there was always a chance for another.

Still, if hiccups occur _anywhere_ in the planning, that mess will eventually find its way up to him. Every damn time. It's not what he signed up for when he took this position from the last, and he won't be the last expecting the same. Kassius has said he worries far too much, but that's precisely why he was where he was now. He knows what to worry about and what not to, what he needs to squash under his heel before it whirls back to bite him in the ass.

Staring at the Lars in the camera feed he can't shake the feeling that he'll be one of those people for a very long time. Adirian's too busy finding every reason to leave the Capitol to have his nose in all the wrong business, and Vinicia knows how to vanish at the right times.

At some point, it turned from accidental to just their nature, like something infected them the longer they held their positions and it changed their DNA. He's sure of it.

"At least I have the consolation that they'll awake at the crack of dawn on launch day, while I'm sleeping in," he mutters.

That's their job. Run the country for a couple of hours, that's all. Why is it still so terrifying to let them have that?

* * *

Have a little taste of the capitol crew we're dealing with. Fun fact, this one has gone under zero editing I'm sorry.

I'm not on my usual timezone right now so I'm a little bit wigged out but I wanted to start keeping a consistent-ish day that I post updates, so here's to seeing how long it lasts! I've been loving the submissions you guys have given me so far and cherish every single one that comes in whether they get accepted in the final cut or not so thank you so much. I have been adding a few notices on my profile as I receive submissions so keep an eye out for that as you work on yours.

Next week is the final prologue that I have written so I hope to have all the tributes by then to post the results everyone is waiting for. Please make sure to check the rules and what I could use more of before submitting~


	3. Pass the Torch

Prologue III

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**Jasper Westwood | 18 years  
****District Nine Male  
****Victor of the 169th Hunger Games**

* * *

It still doesn't make complete sense.

For all its worth they've made him comfortable in his own skin again, after what felt like forty years. But they did it, slow as the process was. Is. It still is difficult. A year later and some things he can't help but remember. They still haunt him at night around certain corners and in a certain light. Sometimes it doesn't feel like those will ever go away, no peace, no quiet, definitely no freedom.

That's why everyone has decided to take up as much space on Nine's floor as possible.

Tinam has to fold herself over her knees on the couch to avoid a flying foot coming her way. A grumble sounds from her, muffled and wheezed, and she presses sideways into Khalan who wriggles the slightest bit. It's like a domino effect, only without the complete toppling over. That was waiting for the two wrestling on the occupied floor in the middle of the room. Khalan shifts over to make room for Tinam's encroaching occupation of the couch, elbows digging into Jasper's side, all the while being squished further against the armrest. A few joints digging into his ribs aren't feeling any better than possibly getting kicked in the gut at this point.

The Twos are sitting across from them, watching the scene unfold contently. They have plenty of room over there. Adelae's foot hooks under the coffee table that once sat perfectly between the couches but now is about as askew as the brawlers' hair, dragging it screeching towards her. She pulls her feet under her and the table tight against the cushions, Sascha remains still. Jasper's convinced as he watches Adelae swipe the last of the cheese off the plate that she was more concerned about it not getting flattened under someone's heel then truly caring for someone's head.

There's no sound coming from the kitchen anymore, which is slightly worrying. Jasper's head cranks back as much as it can at his awkward angle to peer into the spotless kitchen. Sorrell, bless his soul, is wobbling precariously around the island balancing what looks like a full pot of something, three heaped plates, and a heat mat between his teeth. He's focused though, eyes dead set on the dining table.

If it weren't for him and Penelope, Jasper would have forgotten the taste of home-cooked meals from all his time in the Capitol. The sense of home that doesn't really exist anymore, not like it used to. The first time he set eyes on a Capitol meal he almost didn't want to eat it it was presented so perfectly. And it still never tastes right.

That's what he hated about this place, on top of all the other reasons you could hate it. Nothing ever felt _right_. Everything was all a little too pristine, too enchanting, too welcoming to someone like him who'd never seen a bathroom mirror so clean before stepping on that train.

"What'd I say about yanking hair!" Marcello shouts. One of the culprits in the new arrangement in furniture. His head is tugged sharply at a ninety-degree angle by Telilah's fingers buried into his hair. She has a fist clamped in it, not letting go anytime soon like a toddler and their rattle.

"Not to pull it," she hisses. She's pinned effectively under Marcello, his knee pressed into her thigh while his other footholds her other leg to the ground. If she could she'd likely try wildly kicking to get him off, it worked the first time, but he was solid. The longer she has the strands in her grasp the more she manages to pull his head towards her. She looks like she can't decide between snickering or scowling at Marco. He, on the other hand, isn't holding one back.

No one ever expected Telilah to have much power stored in her little body, crawling from the edges of Eleven as she claimed, and resembles a small dog trying to fit the fur of a mastiff or shepherd. That was why she won in the first place and continues to win her tussles. Marcello's hair came loose, his head jerking back with the loosened tension. Just enough to lift the rest of him. She hooks the same hand through his arm, around his shoulder and locks her fingers into the back of his head. Jasper winces as she gets her leg under his stomach and shoves into him. The pair go rolling to the side.

Everything goes black. A warm black, letting the barest cracks of light through.

When she lets her hands fall to his cheeks giving him his vision back, Marcello is laying over top of Telilah. Squishing her to the floor with his weight.

"You look like you're trying to arrest her," Livia deadpans.

"_Succeeding_," Marcello huffs, his forearms press over Telilah's.

Livia leans into Jasper's ear to murmur not so subtly, "Must be for that record she was talking about earlier."

"Seven… eight… nine… " Valor's voice counts off. Everyone sharing Jasper's couch shoots a glance at him. Everyone that can hear that is, Sorrell keeps doing his own thing in the kitchen with his music. When did he even come in?

Valor's waiting at Marco's outstretched feet with his fist on his hips. He watches the scene for another second before he moves.

Valor's hands bunch into the back of Marco's jacket and he hauls him off Telilah's back in one motion. Telilah doesn't seem ready to give up her game though, fingers latched to the front of the Four's shirt and being dragged up along with him. Having someone else intervene and pull away her troubles wasn't a way she'd accept victory.

Jasper taps Livia's hands still resting on his cheeks, tipping his head back against the couch to look up at her. He gets a view of her chin before she meets his eyes, pulled away from the tussle of now three of his 'guests'. She pushes her hands against his cheeks as he opens his mouth, making him look like a fish. She giggles before letting go.

"What?" she hummed. Her hair fell from behind her ears, curtaining her eyes, away from the people at his side. She watches him for a second before her eyes fall shut and she pats his face. "Alright, come on then."

He hides the smile that crosses his face by pulling himself out of the fray of limbs and pointy joints. He tiptoed his way around the three still wrestling on the floor like the floor was lava, slinging his arm over Livia's shoulders when he met her on the other side. Passing through the kitchen he sneaks a full glass set out on the table in each hand and hands one to her. Sorrell doesn't notice as they step onto the small glass balcony. Warm summer air fills his lungs with a deep breath.

"Got everything packed up?"

"Not in the slightest. I'm leaving it here for when we come back." They weren't going to be gone for that long. Three weeks and then it was the Reaping and they'd be bundled right back onto the trains bound for the Capitol. There wasn't a point in having all of his things stored away and have to unpack, repack, then unpack again. He wasn't the only one either.

Livia didn't look too impressed either way. It doesn't look like she's going to fight him on it though thankfully and glances back to the gathered victors in the living room.

"I hate that this is one of the only places we can all be together," she huffs into her drink. Staring into it at her reflection. He nods.

She didn't just mean it as one place. It was the Capitol altogether. She had told him how she felt her breaths getting shorter and shorter the longer she breathed its air. The longer they were stuck in these walls her skin crawled. He was too busy trying to stave off the shadows of his own mind to even begin to understand what she meant at first.

They were the safest citizens in the Capitol. With a knife still at their throats nonetheless.

"You really don't need to do this this year. No matter what everyone else says, you don't. Shamus said he'd come back this year so you could breathe," she says gravely. A weight falls over him and he knows it's her eyes staring him down. The blinking lights of the city keep his gaze instead. Thousands of them stretched out at all angles, like the stars in Nine. When he could lay hidden away in the fields and know he was safe, think that he would never forget the feeling of safety.

"I want to," he admits finally. "If I don't now then I won't want to next year, or the year after that, or after that. It will get harder to come back by my own choice."

Everyone took it differently, not one of them the same as the others before them. At least that's what Livia told him. She'd only seen him come out of the arena, but he was inclined to believe her. He could hear the rest of their voices behind hers, the other victors. Like a symphony of reminders and lifesavers.

A full year hasn't passed yet from his Reaping day and usually they were given a grace period of a year before they were expected to let one of their mentors retire, to step away from that life fully and completely. But he wasn't taking it. Couldn't. Not when he felt mostly put back together. He didn't know whether it would be scarier sitting up on that stage and watching the terrified faces of the kids he used to go to school withstand in front of him, or listening to their names broadcasted over the television and knowing that the last they'd seen of him was ripping someone's throat open when it could be the last friendly face they see, if they're unlucky.

Luck wasn't on their side for them to end up there in the first place.

She looks like she's reading his mind. "Luck's on our side sometimes. Lucky that I thought the same thing last year. What would you of done if you didn't meet me?" She chimes. She must have seen it in him, or heard it in his voice. For everything that she'd convinced him of, she wasn't swaying him from this.

"Glad we didn't have to find out."

* * *

I know some of you just skipped right here.

Say hi to the newest victor and a bunch more of my own victors I'm already way too attached to for my own good. So humour me for this chapter at least as I indulge. If you haven't found it yet, there's a blog link for all of them since the 75th on my profile to peruse through for your enjoyment and my own organization.

So here we are! End of the prologues and about to meet all the kiddies. Thank to everyone who submitted, means a lot to have interest in my first go at this and I really enjoyed reading through all the applications. I changed a few things around and I appreciate everyone who worked with me through it.

Without further ado, go check out the blog listed on my profile.

And as a heads up, as far as I can tell right now it will likely be two weeks until the next chapter because I'm travelling again for my last-ish tournament of the season. But we can see if I get lucky and have the time to upload it this Monday.


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